Chapter 26- Old Friends

The crowd bustled around him and he brushed through, making his way to the guard at the door. With a smile the guard stepped aside and allowed him to pass. He stepped into the box and looked around him, his eyes drifted over the curtains blocking the stage, the rows up on rows of velvet covered seats...

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder as he sat in his seat.

'Rather a lovely theatre, isn't it?' his brother said, as he took the seat next to him.

With a nod, he simply let his eyes continue to take in the sight before him. The beautiful chandelier overhead was just the final touch of elegance. His brother did make some good decisions after all.

People below were getting into their seats, there was a hum about the place, a great atmosphere that made his nerves tingle. It had been a long time since he had been to the theatre, he forgot how beautifully normal he felt when he was here, it was nice to allow other people to do the entertaining.

A lull fell around the place and slowly the side lights began to dip leaving on the lights around the stage glowing brightly. The curtains began to draw back and the orchestra started to play, softly, introducing themselves to the audience. He knew from talking to some of the guests that many of them had some to see Carlotta and now, from their talk, he was looking forward to seeing her too.

She was not in the opening scene and he waited patiently. The chorus were very good, the music was well timed, everything seemed to be going well.

At least it was going well until the leading lady entered the stage from the left. He felt Philippe's hand in his arm, his fingers digging in. Raoul turned to face him, frowning.

'What is wrong with you?' he asked.

Philippe scowled. 'That is not Carlotta,' he hissed, his eyes blazing with anger.

'How do you know?' he said. 'You can barely see her from here,'

'Because,' he sighed. 'Carlotta is around four times this young lady's size,'

Raoul frowned and glanced back out at the stage and then let his eyes fall up on the audience. They, too, had noticed that this was not the woman they had all paid to see. They were whispering, some had already stood to leave. Raoul felt his heart crawl into his mouth.

But then, she sang.

The men and woman who had stood and begun to walk away, slowly turned around and directed their attention back to the stage. It was no longer possible for Raoul to watch the audience as his own senses were drawn towards the stage. The young woman glided to the centre, singing powerfully yet somehow softly, and it was then that he recognised her.

'Philippe,' he said, grabbing his brother's jacket as he stood.

Philippe, also seemingly mesmerised, simply stood with him, eyes fixed on the stage. 'What?'

'That's...' he frowned and stared harder, was he right?

'That's what?' Philippe asked, glancing briefly as Raoul.

'Is it...' he looked again. 'Is that Christine?'

'Your friend Christine?' he asked.

Raoul nodded, not allowing his eyes to leave her face for one moment.

'I...'

'It is!' Raoul said, grinning. 'It's Christine...'

'It doesn't look...'

'Believe me brother,' Raoul said, his heart pounding. 'She may not be quite so gawky as she once was... in fact, she is utterly beautiful... but, believe me, it is Christine...'

Philippe leaned forward, staring at her harder. 'So it is...'

'Isn't she wonderful?' Raoul said, his pulse wild.

'Yes,' Philippe said, eyes wide. 'She really is...'

'Have you seen Christine?' Meg asked her mother as she wandered across the back of the stage. The applause was still coming from the audience, despite the fact that the who had been over for nearly five minutes.

Also, in that five minutes, Christine had managed to disappear.

'No,' her mother replied. 'But when you find her, tell her from me, she did very well,'

Meg nodded and rounded the corner into one of the corridors at the back. She had already checked Christine's room and there was no sign there of her friend. It was unusual for Christine to leave right after a show without at least speaking to Meg... saying that, Christine had been doing a lot of unusual things lately.

There was only one place she hadn't checked and so she descended the steps into the Opera Populaire chapel. Christine was sitting in the corner of the room staring up out of the small window in the corner. Other than that window there was nowhere for natural light to come into the room. Meg lifted the candle from next to the door and walked over the Christine.

'What's wrong?' she asked, as she sat opposite her friend.

Christine looked at her as if she had not noticed her enter the room. 'Nothing,'

'What are you doing down here on your own?' she asked.

'Thinking,'

'What about?' Meg asked.

'Just thinking,'

'You look so melancholy,' Meg said, reaching out and touching Christine's cold hand. 'You should be celebrating... everyone loved you, you were perfect,'

'Perfect by who's standards?' she asked, strange question.

'Mine,' Meg said. 'My mothers, the managers, the audience... everyone that matters...'

'Not everyone that matters, Meg,'

'Who matters more than the audience?' she asked, confused.

Christine seemed to ignore the question. 'I made a couple of errors,'

'Really?' Meg frowned. 'I didn't notice... no one seemed to notice,'

'Well, I did,'

'But if no one noticed then how can you be so upset,'

'He will have noticed,'

Meg stared at her friend for a minute, trying to figure her out, trying to work out what on earth was going on. 'Your teacher?'

Christine said nothing.

'Who is this new tutor, Christine?'

'He is brilliant...'

Meg nodded.

'Do you remember, I told you once that my father always told me that if he ever left he would send me an angel of music?'

'I remember,'

'He sent one,'

'Your tutor?'

Christine nodded. 'He may not be an angel in the mythical sense but he is certainly an angel in every other,'

'Angels don't exist,'

'I don't mean it like that Meg,' she said. 'Can't you see?'

Meg said nothing, just stared at her friend moist eyes.

'My father was such a good man, a kind and intelligent man,' she said. 'I was a child when he told me about this angel... don't act as though I have lost my senses completely, I know he isn't God's messenger...' she laughed and to Meg, it sounded bitter. 'Believe me, I know that he is not God's messenger,'

'Then what do you mean by angel?' Meg asked.

'I mean he had become my protector...' Christine whispered. 'He has become my friend, my teacher and my protector,'

Meg felt her heart beat hard. 'You and he are not...'

'Lovers, Meg?' Christine asked. 'No,'

She felt the shot of relief in her system but it was short lived.

'But part of me...'

'Don't say it, Christine,' Meg said. 'You have barely known him five minutes,'

'He is an angel,' Christine said. 'He is my angel at the very least,'

Meg smiled at this. 'I'm sorry I snapped at you,' she said.

Christine shook her head as if telling her not to worry.

'What is his name?'

Christine looked at her. 'I can't tell you,'

'Why on earth not?' Meg smiled but was beginning to feel uneasy again.

'He asked me not to tell anyone,'

'The mysterious type,'

This time Christine's laugh was warm. 'I suppose you could call him that, yes,'

'He is a singer then?'

'He is many things,' Christine said. 'Some of them not good...'

'What do you mean?'

Christine seemed, at that moment, to snap out of a trance. She jumped to her feet and walked quickly to the door.

'I don't mean anything,' she said sharply. 'I have said more than I wish to say for one evening,'

'Christine,' Meg followed her. 'What are you so afraid of?'

'Why do you say that I am afraid?'

'You run away, you avoid my questions... you are scared that you made mistakes tonight,'

'I don't want to disappoint him,'

'Then perhaps he is putting too much pressure on you,'

Christine turned to look at Meg. 'Please Meg,' she said, almost gently. 'Do not make comments about things you do not understand,'

Meg was about to ask her friend to make her understand when she saw the look in her eyes. She realised that their conversation was over, she knew that it was probably not going to start again either.

'Bravisimi,' was the first thing that Christine heard when she stepped into her room. She felt a blush creep along her cheeks as she picked up the rose from her bed.

'Thank you,' she said. 'The rose is beautiful,'

'No,' he said. 'Thank you,'

'What for?' she asked as she sat in the chair near the wall mirror.

'For being so wonderful on stage tonight,'

'I made... errors,' she said, swallowing hard.

'Nothing fatal,' he said. 'But I heard them,'

'You don't seem angry,'

'I'm not angry,'

'But...'

'But nothing, Christine,' he said. 'We can work on the mistakes, they were minor at worst... you were truly magnificent this evening,'

She smiled, in spite of her own disappointment.

'Don't be too angry with yourself,' he said. 'We will work on it,'

'I know...'

'Then why do you look so incredibly sad?'

'It's nothing,' she said.

'It is obviously something,'

'I wish...' she stopped herself quickly.

'What do you wish?' Erik asked.

'I wish many things,' she said. 'But I wish my father could have seen me tonight,'

'He would have been very proud, I'm sure,'

She nodded.

'But that wasn't what you were going to say, was it, Christine?'

There he was again, making her name warm in his voice, making it sound seductive and soft. Her heart gave a thump as she took a breath.

'No,'

'What do you wish, Christine?'

Stop saying my name, she thought, feeling her heart ache.

'I wish I could see you...'

'Well...' he began but was halted by the hard knocking at her bedroom door. She looked around her and when Erik did not continue speaking she stood to answer the door.

When it opened she had the shock of her life.